


rush

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Bottom Will Graham, Conditioning, Creampie, Dark Will Graham, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Fear Play, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hypnotism, Illusions, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Outdoor Sex, Restraints, Sex in the woods, Top Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: The monster smiles. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you, darling?" it asks.





	rush

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [saccharine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089516) by [YouAreMyDesign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign). 



Will stumbles out of the house, the world spinning around him as he tries to get his feet under him. This is…this is wrong. This _feels_ wrong. He hasn't had that much to drink, not enough for him to be this lightheaded, this out of it. He falls against a brick wall, hissing at the burning heat of cuts against his palms. His wrists ache, terribly sore from being bound so tightly – but he's, he's free. He escaped.

He can barely see, his vision swimming in and out of focus. He clutches his stomach and forces his fingers behind his teeth, trying to throw up whatever the fuck it was he drank because clearly there was a little more than just wine in that glass.

He hears, behind him, a door opening, golden light flooding the area and stopping just shy of his feet.

Looks up, and sees a shadow, broad and big and imposing. Within that shadow, red eyes that pulse in rhythm like a heartbeat, and he staggers back, breathing heavily, his exhale misting in the cold air and clouding his vision further. The shadow snarls, and flexes sharp claws.

Will turns tail and runs, sprinting as fast as he can and he can't even see where he's going – his vision is getting dark, but all he knows is away, _away_ , he has to get away. This thing, whatever the fuck it is, had him trapped in its house and it's going to -.

He hears the monster snarl, and knows he's being chased. He doesn't let himself think. Doesn't let himself imagine what happens if he's caught. He turns, skidding on black ice, slams into the side of another building with a heavy groan. Fear makes his pulse quicken, but all that's doing is making the drug work faster, he thinks. His brain is sluggish, oozing fear into him like molasses. He might have bitten his tongue – it hurts, and he tastes blood in his mouth.

Still, he pushes himself from the wall and maintains his frantic flight. Just, just has to get away. Just has to make it somewhere safe, with other people, maybe. A hospital would work. Or somewhere with a lock – does the monster care about locks?

A snarl, far too close. Will swallows, puts a hand over his mouth to quiet his breathing, and sees beyond him, behind the buildings, an open stretch of field. A cluster of trees. The field is stupid, he's too exposed in that, but the trees are shelter and he'll be able to climb one, maybe, or find a place to hide so deep in the forest that the monster won't find him.

He bolts, panting heavily, and doesn't look back. He gets to the trees and flings himself between two, stumbling on heaving roots that seem to rise up and twist around his ankles, slowing him down. The boughs clutch at him, the thick grouping of underbrush yanks on his jeans and – he's fucking barefoot. He feels the cold absently, but the pain is sharp as he stumbles to his knees. Lets out a harsh cry at the second spike of pain, and then whimpers, pressing both hands over his mouth.

His heart is hammering in his chest, his vision black – there is no moon tonight, nothing to light his way. He freezes and listens, for anything, for anything, and trembles when he hears something else breathing in off-beat to his own.

He flattens himself behind a tree, curls up as small as he can, closes his eyes tightly shut to stop his vision swimming in front of him. He listens, listens, hears heavy footballs and loud breaths, coated in another set of snarls. His lips press together and he dares not breathe, but his lungs are burning and he aches from cold, shivering when his bare feet and his aching forearms touch the ground.

He hears something laughing, low. "You can't hide from me, darling," it purrs, and Will's spine goes cold and tense. He can't keep his eyes open now, can't open them even when he tries. The drug is taking him and he spasms, trying to wriggle his fingers, his toes, anything to assure himself that he's awake. "I can smell you."

Will swallows.

"I can hear your heart flying for me."

He whines.

"Are you afraid?"

Yes, yes, he's terribly afraid. The monster is going to eat him, he's sure of it. The footsteps prowl closer, and he curls up more tightly, as if the smaller he makes himself the less real this whole thing is. He's shaking with fear, sweaty and soaked with it, cold and tense and so fucking scared he doesn't know what to do except freeze and tremble.

He hears, above him, but distant like hearing it through a tunnel, the crack of bark. Feels shards of it fall onto his bare skin. He opens his eyes, tries to, manages a slit of vision, and looks up. Sees sharp teeth and red eyes, and moans in fear.

The monster grins at him. His claws are sharp, ragged on the tree, and stretch out long in the darkness. "Oh, look at you," it purrs, and crouches down, black-skinned and its eyes burning like the hypnotic dance of flames. Will can't stop staring at them, feels something pulling at him that makes him shake for another reason entirely. Hands, there are hands on him, but the monster isn't touching him. The monster breathes in deeply, lets out its breath in a heavy snarl. "Why did you run from me, darling? We were having fun."

Will's lip twitches, but otherwise he doesn't move. He can't, he can only stare. Can't even speak; all that comes out of him is a weak, frantic whine. His vision is turning grey at the edges, whatever drug he was given, it's going to take him under soon. He won't survive, he won't survive.

The monster's head tilts, and it reaches with a clawed hand. Will flinches, but he can't flinch. His muscles do nothing but spasm as the hand lands on his thigh, so suddenly hot it burns. The drug overtakes him, makes him limp and weak, his hands falling from his mouth and his entire body going lax.

"That's it," the monster purrs, and digs his claws in, peeling through Will's clothes and baring him like the plastic covering from meat. The monster crouches closer, touches a claw to Will's chin, and Will moans again, shuddering.

He can't speak, can't even make himself swallow saliva, and when the monster's claw digs into his lip, slides between them and makes them part, it drips down his chin and onto his hands. The monster pulls him upright, puts his back against the tree, and Will blinks up at it, and burns on his tongue, in his mouth.

The monster smiles. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you, darling?" it asks.

Will can't talk. He lets his head drop, once, wincing when the monster pulls him up again so their eyes can meet.

"Why would I do that?" it purrs, and claws at Will's clothes again, shredding them easily like hot knives through butter. Will flinches in the cold, exposed and pale and shuddering, and the monster slides its claw from his mouth, touches, instead, his sweaty hair.

It takes all of Will's strength to say; "Please."

The monster tilts his head, and smiles at him.

Then, a voice comes out of the monster's mouth, and it's not the monster's voice – not a low, bestial thing, but something terribly familiar. Hannibal, it's Hannibal's voice. "He wants to make you feel good, darling. You have to let him."

His eyes widen. He gasps.

The monster cradles him close, and he's so warm, welcomingly warm, and Will lifts his tired hands, paws at its chest. Whimpers, when he receives a soft kiss to the arch of his ear. His lashes flutter, want to close, but Will suddenly can't bear the thought of looking away.

"You want to let him make you feel good, don't you, Will?"

Will does, he does. Hannibal's voice is – is safety. Will trusts Hannibal. Hannibal is his friend. He blinks rapid-fire, tries to calm his breathing; his lungs grow warm and steady beneath the monster's heat.

"It feels good when he touches you," Hannibal's voice says, from the monster's mouth, and Will blinks, once, slowly, pupils flaring wide as he stares into the monster's red eyes. "Do you remember him kissing you?"

Will doesn't. But he does. He touches his lips to the monster's shoulder, feels a fissure of memory, something pulsing deep between his ribs. He shivers, and nods, licking his lips.

"Didn't it feel good, darling?" the monster purrs, but it's Hannibal now, all Hannibal. The monster is so warm, his claws sharp on Will's thighs as he pushes them apart, tugs Will as his back scrapes down the tree and he lands with a soft cry on his back on the forest floor. "It feels good," Hannibal's voice says, and it does, it does, _Christ_ , it does, when the monster pets between his legs, slips the tip of a claw inside of Will and curls up until he shivers.

He feels his skin give, feels his blood gushing warm and thick, as the monster cups his neck and kisses him. Then, there is only heat, Will too limp and lifeless to resist it. "Take a deep breath." Will does, smells paper and wine and leather. Hannibal, that's Hannibal's scent.

The monster's mouth is warm. Will whimpers for a reason he doesn't quite understand; all he knows is it feels good where he's touched. Even bloody, even sore and still weak, his hammering heart and the heat of the monster makes his vision clear.

"Good," Hannibal's voice murmurs, as the monster licks between his teeth. "That's very good, Will. Take another for me." Will obeys, whining sweetly. "Feel his hands on you." He does, he can, and they're so -. "They're warm, and gentle. He wants to make you feel pleasure, Will." Will shivers, swallows hard.

"Are you going to let him?"

Will knows what he has to do – he has to ask. Has to beg. "Please," he whispers, rasping the word. The monster's eyes flash, staring down at him, unblinking. Will touches him, gentle as sin, hands trembling and heart rabbit-thumping behind his ribs. "Please."

The monster smiles.

Will swallows, and says; "I want to make you happy."

"Oh, Will," the monster purrs, and his voice is changing again, a snarl mixed beneath like he has two voices – Hannibal's, and his true one. He pulls his claw out of Will, wet with blood, and pushes between his legs.

"Yes," Will whispers, panting, pawing at him. He forces himself to watch as the monster grips him tightly, shreds his claws through fine skin and delicate muscle, until Will is torn and helpless and broken open. Then, broken again, his body splitting in a sharp arc of pain as the monster pushes his cock inside him.

He trembles, spasming, and whines; "Hurts."

"No, it doesn't. It feels good."

Of course, of course it does. Will is light-headed, out of his Goddamn mind, and he touches the monster's chest, feels strength and warmth and curls up into it as the monster fucks deep into him, forcing muscles to part and yield. He smells blood, knows he's bleeding. He moans for it, soaking wet on his tongue, in his ass, his blood helping the monster move inside him.

It feels huge, warm, its cock splitting Will open and gouging him from the inside. He whimpers, and touches the monster's claws.

"Let me see you," he begs. He's sure the monster is making itself look this way. "Please. Please?"

The monster smiles at him, leans down and kisses him, and Will arches into it, clutches at its face – gasps, when black coal-like skin melts into fever-warm flesh. Shakes, as the claws turn into mere nails, the hands of a man. Trembles, as he feels hair and sweat and smells paper and ink.

The monster is just a man. The forest floor becomes a bed. The shadows remain, but are split with gold, and when Will leans up for another kiss, it is Hannibal's mouth that meets his. Hannibal's hands that are on his hips, keeping him still. Hannibal's cock fucking him open and raw.

"What have you done to me?" he whispers, and his wrists are still red from being bound. Beside his head, leather cuffs dangle from the headboard. He aches, he aches terribly, his throat raw like he's just thrown up, his skin simmering with blistering heat as Hannibal fucks him.

"I took away your fear," Hannibal replies, his eyes black and gold and red. He touches Will's cheek with a warm, blood-coated hand, and Will shivers, tastes it on his tongue. Licks, and smears red on Hannibal's chin. "It's what you wanted."

Will nods, pliant and trembling. He lifts his thighs, bends his knees, digs his heels into Hannibal's tensed calves and slides them down, entwining their legs. Reaches up, and kisses again, feels a flood of something not quite fear, no longer horror. He loves this monster; this monster makes him feel good.

He whimpers, when Hannibal resumes his pace, fucking him brutally enough that the bed creaks beneath them. "You've done this to me before, haven't you?"

His throat is tender and raw. He's had the monster inside his mouth, too.

"Yes," Hannibal replies, breathless with pleasure, unrepentant. Will doesn't expect him to be sorry – he's right. He did exactly what Will wanted.

"Do it again," Will demands. Hannibal smiles at him, all red teeth and black eyes, and kisses him fiercely, folding Will's knees to his chest as he fucks Will, forces his cock deep into Will's gut, planting poison. Feeds Will his venom, which tastes like blood and wine. Will clutches at him, trembling.

"More," he whispers. "Give me more."

Hannibal snarls, the sound violent and monstrous, claws at Will's thighs and goes still, and Will closes his eyes, finally, tips his head back and sighs as Hannibal comes inside him, flooding him with more heat. He turns his head, shows his throat, shudders when he's kissed over his rushing pulse.

Hannibal releases his legs, lets him settle. Will is still hard, and Hannibal takes one of his hands, wraps them both around Will's cock. They stroke him together, and Will's eyes fly open, his chest heaving and back arching, chasing the pleasure as Hannibal softens and slides out of him.

Will stares at him, finally seeing him for what he is; madness, monstrosity, the only thing that has ever made Will feel this Goddamn good. He whimpers, clenches his teeth, and bites savagely at Hannibal's bare shoulder as he comes, spilling over their laced fingers and his belly.

Around his bite are several others – truly, this is not the first time Will's bitten him. The monster lets him bite, because Will is a monster too, and blood calls to blood, mate calls to mate. He stares up at Hannibal and Hannibal sighs, rests their foreheads together, and pets a red hand over Will's flushed cheek.

Will sighs, closing his eyes, and smiles weakly. "I might have to kill you, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal doesn't smile, doesn't frown. Merely hums and kisses Will's offered mouth. "We'll see," he says, in that confident tone that drives Will to madness. He shivers, sighs, flexes his own fingers and thinks, in the shadows, they look clawed too.

His eyes rise, to the ceiling. "You don't have to keep drugging me."

"You seem to enjoy it," Hannibal replies, again unrepentant. "When robbed of your free will, you are without limit. Free, to do as you like."

Will presses his lips together, and sighs through his nose. "I suppose you'll have to take away my inhibitions next, then."

Hannibal smiles. He moves from Will, but does not go far – pushes the cuffs from the pillow by Will's head and settles on his side there. Will rolls to face him, drags his thumb along the corner of his own mouth and wonders if all of it is Hannibal's blood. Some might be his own – he is undeniably bloody, between his legs, over his hips. Slick, too, with Hannibal's come. He shivers.

"Don't drug me, next time," he says, and touches Hannibal's jaw. "No hypnosis. None of that shit. I have no interest in indulging an illusion."

Hannibal nods. Will almost expected him to protest, but no such thing comes. Hannibal pets a hand through Will's hair, drags him close, and kisses him one last time. He takes Will's wrists, and lifts them to the cuffs, binding him tight again, and Will huffs, but doesn't protest. It's smart of Hannibal, to take measures to ensure his own survival.

The female of the species is undeoubtedly the more fierce.

"Sleep, darling," Hannibal purrs, and nuzzles his hair, kisses his forehead. "We'll see, in the new day, if you prefer the monster or the man."


End file.
